Hard Metal
by flowerpicture
Summary: Drunken Stendan getting frisky on the Chez Chez steps.


**Just a quick bit of fluffy porn written for the lovely Di.**

::: :::

"Am I gonna have to carry you?"

Steven tutts and staggers a little, knocks into Brendan's side. "I'm not even that drunk," he protests, even as he clings onto Brendan's arm and looks up at him with hazy, slightly crossed eyes.

Then he somehow trips over nothing, nearly taking Brendan with him.

"No," says Brendan, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to hold him upright. "I can see that."

They're in the process of walking through the village after a night out in Chester—it's a slow journey, with a drunken Steven getting distracted by everything and walking into all stationary objects. Brendan's trying to be annoyed with him, but it's not really working. There's something about an idiotic, flailing Steven that tugs on his affections.

Plus, he's not exactly sober himself, and he _was_ the one who kept buying more drinks at that horrendous club Steven insisted they attend.

It must be close to three in the morning now, and the village is peaceful and quiet. They've only passed one or two people; although Steven's being loud enough to wake the dead, let alone the villagers.

"Proper good night, that," he's saying, waving an arm around randomly while failing to put one foot in front of the other. He stops suddenly, attempts to turn so he's facing Brendan and falls into his chest. Brendan holds him by the waist and can't help but smile down at him.

"Weren't it?" Steven continues, fisting his hands in the front of Brendan's shirt and gazing at him with unfocused eyes. "You and me, on a proper date." His face splits into a grin; happiness radiates from him, and Brendan lifts a hand from his waist to cup his face.

They've not been together long—unofficially for a couple of months, all clandestine meetings and secret fucking and in-depth conversations about if they can make it work this time. They made it official about three weeks ago, when Brendan kissed him in the middle of Chez Chez, unable to contain himself while a flushed, bright-eyed Steven had been talking a mile a minute, capturing Brendan's attention and making him think of what it would be like, if he could have this for real, without all the pretence and bullshit.

It's going well, so far, all things considered.

"Yes," he says now, stroking a thumb over Steven's cheek. "It was."

"I like being your boyfriend, me," Steven says, before letting out a nervous sort of giggle.

Once upon a time, that statement alone would've been enough for Brendan to turn around and walk in the opposite direction. Or worse.

Now it does nothing but make him pull Steven in closer and murmur, "Likewise," before stealing his mouth in a sloppy kiss.

Steven moans into it, hands dragging up to wind through Brendan's hair, their tongues clumsy and uncoordinated and lips too slick as the kiss deepens, right here in the village, in full view of anyone who might choose to look.

Steven pulls back from the kiss just slightly, enough to breathe, "Want you to fuck me," against Brendan's mouth, tilting his hips up and forward to make Brendan feel exactly how much he wants it.

Brendan hisses at the contact, the rough glide of material against hardness, catches Steven's bottom lip between his teeth. "Planning on it," he says, before swiping his tongue over Steven's lip, easing any sting.

But Steven's apparently not satisfied with that answer; he tugs harder on Brendan's hair, grinds his hips up again. "Now," he says, letting one hand trail down to the front of Brendan's trousers, curl around his dick. "Can't wait."

Brendan groans, pushing into the touch, silently urging Steven to grip him tighter. "I can't fuck you here," he says, slipping his hand beneath the back of Steven's t-shirt, splaying his palm and fingers across burning skin.

"Club," says Steven, rubbing him, making heat pool in his gut. He's already leaking precome into his boxers; can feel the tackiness of it, the hardness of his dick pulsing in Steven's grip.

He glances up at the building, takes less than a second to consider. "Yeah, c'mon."

He takes Steven by the wrist and half drags him through the club's courtyard, heading towards the stairs, digging a hand in his pocket for his keys.

He makes it onto the first step before Steven grabs him and turns him and forces him to stoop down for a bruising kiss. Steven joins him on the step, pushes into his body, whimpering low in his throat as he plunders Brendan's mouth and tugs on his clothing, trying desperately to get to some skin.

Brendan walks backwards, up one step and then another, his mouth remaining firmly attached to Steven's, a hand holding Steven's face to keep them close and ensure he walks up the steps as well.

Somewhere in the middle of the staircase, Steven overbalances and falls against Brendan's chest, making Brendan stumble back against the next step and fall, edge of one step hitting the small of his back, another digging in just beneath his shoulders.

He grunts with the mild pain, the full weight of Steven already crawling over him. "Jesus, Steven—"

But Steven's not interested in his complaint. He's managed somehow to get some of Brendan's shirt buttons open while climbing up into his lap and then plunging his tongue back into Brendan's mouth.

Brendan breaks the kiss, half gasping, trying to ignore how Steven's grinding down on his lap while tearing open the rest of the shirt because _someone_ has to keep their head screwed on here. "Steven, get up, c'mon—we need to go inside—"

"No, please—" Steven mumbles, and then he's lifting up enough to push his trousers and boxers down around the very tops of his thighs, exposing his backside and dick, giving Brendan just enough room to stuff his own cock up in his perfect, tight hole and—

"You're not serious," Brendan says, awed and baffled and so aroused his head's spinning with it.

Steven goes for Brendan's belt, tugs it open. "Stop wasting time," he says, dipping his hand inside Brendan's boxers to grab his dick and pull it out. "Need you to fuck me."

"It's not gonna work like this."

Steven's mindless with it: alternating between licking messily into Brendan's mouth and pulling his own clothing out the way and then shifting up like he thinks he's going to be able to sit on Brendan's dick like this, with his trousers constricting him.

It doesn't take much for Brendan to give in to the temptation; he fists Steven's leaking dick for a moment, letting the boy whimper into his mouth, and then releases him to push him away. "Just—we need to switch—"

Then he gets Steven on his front on the steps, his knees and elbows pressed against metal, Brendan crowding up behind him and he can't believe he's doing this here, out in the open, on the staircase of his own fucking business. But Steven needs him, going crazy with it, and Brendan's so hard he almost hurts with it, and really, he's surprised this hasn't already happened in the past.

He spits on his fingers, no supplies here with him—up in the office, conveniently, but apparently Steven's not patient enough to make it that far and neither is Brendan, not now, not with Steven panting harsh breaths and angling his arse up in invitation and it's beautiful, this sight, enough to make Brendan grit his teeth as a heavy wave of lust crashes over him.

"This might hurt," he warns before pressing a saliva-slick finger against Steven's hole.

"Won't—please—"

Brendan circles his hole for a moment, getting it damp and relaxed, twitching under the sensation. Then he pushes in, Steven groaning loud enough that Brendan has to hiss at him to be quiet; leans down low to spit directly on Steven's hole for extra lube and uses it to work his finger in, waits for the moment the muscle loosens around him and plunges deeper, feeling Steven's inner walls close around him, trying to hold him there. He adds a second finger, drives them both in and out relentlessly, presses sloppy kisses along Steven's lower back as he works, trying to distract himself, take his mind off his own aching hardness.

"I'm ready, c'mon," Steven says a few seconds later, and he's not, not really, but he's always seemed to enjoy the hint of burn on entry so Brendan's not going to deny him.

He removes his fingers, spits in his palm and slicks up his dick, positions himself at Steven's entrance. "You ready?"

"Yeah, _please_, Brendan, I need—"

Brendan pushes in, effectively shutting him up—stopping the words, at least, but not the guttural moan that spills from him. He reaches forward to clamp a hand over Steven's mouth, grips the back of Steven's neck with the other, gives Steven one second, two—then starts thrusting into him, slow at first, until Steven muffles something that sounds like a demand into the skin of his palm and tries shoving his hips back onto Brendan's dick.

If he wants it hard, Brendan's not going to say no, and he gives no pause before he starts pounding into Steven's hole, driving his dick in, a bruising rhythm that punches the breath out of the both of them and has Steven slapping a hand down on the metal of the stair beneath him, mouth straining to cry out against Brendan's hand; then he's convulsing all the way through his body as Brendan removes his other hand from the back of Steven's neck and reaches around for his dick, stroking him quick and hard immediately, wanting to force him into orgasm, send him crashing over the edge.

The step is too firm and painful against Brendan's knees, the air breezing over his bare arse just on the wrong side of cold, Steven's muffled cries against his hand too loud—and yet despite all this working against him, Brendan's thundering towards climax and he uses his hold on Steven's mouth to pull his head back, making his neck strain, enough that Brendan can bury his face in the side of Steven's throat and kiss him there, bite him, stifle his own groans.

Neither of them are sober enough for control and stamina and it doesn't take long—Steven shoving back on his dick and whimpering high in his throat and then his body jolting as he comes abruptly, spilling over Brendan's fist, his hole milking Brendan's dick and forcing a long, deep groan from his chest as his own orgasm races through his veins and burns in his gut and makes his toes curl, his vision black out on the edges.

Brendan slumps over him, panting, dick still buried balls deep and Steven tiredly tugging his hand away from his mouth.

"Sorry," Brendan mumbles, because he didn't mean to silence Steven, usually loves to make him scream the house down. But they're in public, and it's the middle of the night, and the last thing either of them needs is a stay in a police cell.

"S'all right," says Steven, reaching around blindly to give Brendan a clumsy pat on the arm. "But let's go inside now."

Brendan blinks, his forehead still pressed against the back of Steven's shoulder, his dick still buried inside him. "You don't wanna go home?"

"No," says Steven, sounding almost thoughtful. He clenches his hole suddenly, tightens it around Brendan's dick, making him hiss. "Need a drink. And I still want you to fuck me over that desk."

Brendan's stomach jolts. It's late, it's cold, they're drunk and they both have work in the morning. On the other hand…

It's almost a race as to who can make it inside quicker, stripping naked as they kiss their way across the club to the office.

They don't make it out until dawn.


End file.
